


One More For The Reichenbach

by Skypewriter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock poetry, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skypewriter/pseuds/Skypewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This poem fits partially in the context of Turner's 1804 painting, The Falls of the Reichenbach, as seen in TRF.</p>
    </blockquote>





	One More For The Reichenbach

**Author's Note:**

> This poem fits partially in the context of Turner's 1804 painting, The Falls of the Reichenbach, as seen in TRF.

One more for the Reichenbach  
The reporters come and go  
The rock is cut, the bramble bare,  
The water quick to flow.

One more for the Reichenbach  
Your silhouette in black  
The anchor holds, the gale howls  
Through every hissing crack.

One more for the Reichenbach  
The rush of steaming air,  
The push and pull of sunlight  
Through clouds the day breaks fair.

One more for the Reichenbach  
The lies crash to the ground  
You cascade swiftly forward,  
And I am quick to drown.

 

Add me to the Reichenbach  
Let London bury two  
A fate preferred to loneliness  
For me to follow you.

Three cheers for the Reichenbach  
The story sings its song:  
The angel of the legends;  
But I just want you home.

Damn the Falls of the Reichenbach  
The trickle down to dread  
And through the flood of nightmares,  
Your voice breaks in my head.

Turn back the fateful Reichenbach  
Renew the chances past  
Carve out our souls from two to one,  
Press kisses that will last.

 

Through ether slips the Reichenbach  
The papers speak no truth  
The glint of greatness in your eyes –  
Their ice beholds my proof.

Silence takes the Reichenbach  
My countenance worn bare  
With longing for the whispers  
Of words no longer there.

One more for the Reichenbach  
At empty Baker Street  
This creaking ache within my soul  
Is more than six feet deep.

And lastly, of what Reichenbach  
reporters never knew  
In twisted fate, I think I was  
A bit in love with you.


End file.
